


Summer Vacation!

by poludeuces



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: M/M, and nitosche appear at one point, the relationships aren't really in your face, the use of the f word a couple of times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 13:26:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15708135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poludeuces/pseuds/poludeuces
Summary: The authors are put on babysitting duty while on summer vacation in Hawaii.





	Summer Vacation!

“You guys need to go outside,” Ritsuka declared. 

They stood between the two double beds, their arms crossed and a stern look on their face that was only exaggerated by the bags underneath their eyes. 

“ _Someone_ hasn’t been getting a lot of sleep,” Dumas piped up from the bed to their right. He was shaking off the sleep, rubbing his eyes and yawning. As per usual, he must have face-dived into his pillow, as he was still in his full servant outfit, just with his cravat messily done up and his vest’s buttons undone. 

“Well _some of us_ have been trying to stop the foreigner instead of just using this singularity as an excuse to slack off even more.” Ritsuka’s eyes were like daggers, stabbing into Dumas’ soul. He shrugged his shoulders and fell back into the pillows. 

“Isn’t sending Dantès to go do my job good enough?” This was a tactic commonly employed by the author—sending the avenger on tasks in his stead. 

“Dantès has been doing an excellent job. Thank you Dantès,” Ritsuka responded. A mix of a groan and a ‘mhm’ came from the mass of pillows and duvet next to Dumas that Ritsuka could only presume was Dantès. The master walked over to the other side of the room and opened up the curtains. 

Sunlight poured into the room, and this was enough to wake up those in the other bed. Shakespeare’s unruly head popped up from underneath the covers. 

“Please, please have mercy editor! Us poor story tellers, have been working, our fingers to the bone, to produce works for the convention! It is not our fault that our stories are so popular that they require us to be holed up in here, like holy monks reproducing biblical texts, to meet their demands!” Despite having just woken up, Shakespeare was already his dramatic self. 

Ritsuka rolled their eyes, picking up his famous green jacket from the floor and throwing it at his face. “Don’t go around saying your work is biblical, you’ll get David on your case.” 

“That won’t be necessary, I can deliver an appropriate punishment myself,” Avicebron muttered. He patted around the bed, trying to find his bronze mask. He kept his eye mask firmly pressed down as to not show his real face. “Does anyone remember where I placed my mask last night?” he asked, finally giving up. 

A dark, shadowy hand threw the mask at Avicebron, and it landed squarely in his lap. “Thank you,” Avicebron fiddled to put the mask in place, and Dantès groaned in response. He still did not raise his body up from the den he had created for himself. 

Ritsuka chose to ignore the questions surrounding why Avicebron was sleeping in his apparent nemesis Shakespeare’s bed and instead scanned the room again. Amongst the pillows and sheets on the floor, pens and noble phantasms, and various copies of the doujins they had been selling, Ritsuka noticed a clear absence. 

They sighed, resting their hands on their hips. “Where is Andersen?” 

A silence followed. 

Avicebron pretended to have troubles putting on his gauntlets, Shakespeare was playing with his jacket, and Dumas found whatever was happening outside much more interesting. 

“Silence, huh?” Ritsuka tapped their foot. None of the authors looked at them. They rolled their eyes and lifted their hand, revealing the red, sparkling command seals. “Do I have to really use these?” 

That grabbed Shakespeare’s attention, who dropped his jacket into his lap and started shaking his hands at their master. Ritsuka smiled—they had heard about the usage of command seals on Shakespeare by Amakusa and the chains by Semiramis—if anyone was to flip easily, it would be him. 

“O Master, there is no need to resort to such barbaric techniques to reveal the true answer to the young Andersen’s whereabouts!” Ritsuka raised an eyebrow and Shakespeare continued, “Why yes, if the editor wished to know where Andersen had ended up, all they would need to do is ask none other but Dumas himself!” 

“Wha-?! Hey! That’s not cool, bro!” Dumas snapped, now fully sitting up. A soft groan came from Dantès that sounded a lot like, ‘be quieter’. 

Ritsuka nodded and put on a polite smile, “Thank you, Shakespeare.” They turned to face Dumas. They knew how often the two casters fought—really, they should have asked Dumas in the first place. “Well, Dumas? What happened to Andersen?” 

Dumas shrugged his shoulders, smiling wide so his checkerboard teeth were on full display. “I have no idea what Shakespeare is talking abou-” 

“He gave him alcohol,” Avicebron cut him off. 

“HEY! Is everyone trying to snitch on me?!” 

“ _Alcohol, huh?_ ” Ritsuka cocked their head to the side, slowly walking closer and closer to Dumas’ bed. “Why would you be giving alcohol to a minor?” They placed one foot on the bed and leaned in. 

Dumas could only scratch the back of his head and look off to the side. “I ugh... I think he ended up in the bathtub...” 

“The BATHTUB?” Ritsuka screamed. “I told you that if there were any rooming problems that you could come to me! If I had known that you guys would be trying to fit another person in here I would have split you guys up! The _bathtub,_ Dumas?!” 

“I heard that he likes it there. Helps with the scales or something...” 

“That doesn’t make it any better!” They were now jumping on the bed, much to Dantès’ dismay. 

“Why the fuck are you guys so loud this early,” a voice cut in. Cradling a cup of coffee and a newspaper from the lobby downstairs, Andersen stood in the doorframe. Despite him being well-dressed and seemingly awake, the bags under his eyes demonstrated that he had indeed been up late. “You’re giving me a migraine.” 

Ritsuka got off of the bed and pointed at him. “I’m sure the _hangover_ doesn’t help with that migraine, does it?” 

A blush decorated Andersen’s face and he looked away, smiling feebly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about...” 

“Avi already ratted us out,” Dumas called from inside the room. 

“I told you to stop calling me that.” 

“Ah, I knew that rock bastard would snitch,” Andersen sighed as he took a sip of his coffee. 

“I don’t agree to that nickname, either.” Avicebron’s complaints fell to deaf ears. 

By this point, Ritsuka was fuming. Them slacking off was one thing, it was a resort so they couldn’t expect them to work 24/7. Underage drinking and ignoring room rules, on the other hand? That they could not ignore. 

“Shut up!” they screamed. Both Andersen and Dantès groaned in agony. “All of you! You’re on babysitting duty!” A chorus of moans echoed out in response. 

“Master, please, I was not part of this—” Avicebron began. 

“Nope, you’re not getting out of this. I know you’ve been making your golems do your babysitting for you.” If he had not been wearing his mask, his face would have been blushing a deep red. 

Ritsuka turned to face the two beds, and pointed at the digital clock. “Ten minutes! The lobby! If I don’t see you there, then you’re on farming duty for summer outfits!” With a nod, they stomped out of the room, pushing past Andersen and heading down to find the children. 

“Snitch,” Dumas muttered. 

“Pervert.” 

\-- 

Exactly twelve minutes and forty-two seconds later, the four authors and one Dantès had assembled in the lobby. 

They were all in their summer outfits. Andersen hadn’t needed to do much more, but had traded his coffee for a to-go cup, and he had his fancy quill poking out of his pocket. Avicebron had taken just a little bit longer, throwing on a plain white t-shirt over himself and deciding to leave the intricate arm and leg pieces in the hotel room. 

Shakespeare was now rocking the dad look, with a soft pink polo and some cargo shorts, First Folio always in his hand. Dumas had instead gone for the ‘fuckboy on spring break’, with a black tank top and swim trunks, clashing with the summer outfit Dantès had recently acquired (which was the main reason as to why Ritsuka appeared so tired). 

Ritsuka gestured to the four children they were tasked with taking care of: Jeanne Alter Lily, Nursery Rhyme, Jack, and Abigail. “Just four this time. That should be enough for you five to handle, yes?” 

Shakespeare nodded, “Certainly, editor!” 

“Of course, the guy who looks the most like a dad is the most optimistic to do babysitting duty,” Andersen muttered into his coffee cup. 

“Okay, it’s just going to be for a couple of hours and then you can go back to tabling. Usual rules—no swearing, no overspending, and no noble phantasms.” They ran their hands through their hair and smiled. “Thanks, guys. This is technically a punishment but, this helps. I’ll see you guys soon.” They started to leave but stopped to point at Dumas. “And no alcohol.” 

Dumas laughed, “I won’t! I promise!” 

When their master had run off, the five turned to the four girls they would be taking care of. This was not something they weren’t used to—Nursery Rhyme was part of the authors of course, and she would bring her friends to the room. However, Abigail had become a new addition to their Chaldea. This might be a little more difficult than they had been expecting. 

“Have you guys eaten breakfast yet?” Dumas asked, crouching down so he could be at eye-level. 

“It’s one p.m., Uncle Dumas,” Nursery Rhyme responded, “We had breakfast four hours ago.” 

“Lunch, then?” Shakespeare suggested. 

“We have not had lunch yet...” Jeanne Alter Lily mumbled. 

“Perfect! Let’s go get lunch then!” Dumas took Jeanne Alter Lily’s hand and the group started walking towards the hotel’s restaurant. Jack climbed up onto Shakespeare’s back, as she was prone to do, and Nursery Rhyme grabbed onto Avicebron’s hand and pulled him along. Andersen sighed, and a hand in his pocket, followed the others. 

At the back, two souls remained. 

Dantès looked down at the young girl, and she looked back at him with expecting eyes. He had some knowledge with children—often he would be with the authors when they were tasked with babysitting duty, and once or twice Dumas had made him take care of Jeanne Alter Lily for him. Abigail was new. 

“Are you hungry, Abigail?” he asked, outstretching his hand. She clasped her plush bear closer to her chest. 

“Abby.” 

“Abby?” Dantès repeated. He glanced towards the group, they had made serious distance. Nothing he couldn’t catch up to, but his rumbling stomach made him want to start walking as quickly as possible. 

“I don’t like Abigail... Call me Abby...” She looked down at her teddy and kicked her flip-flopped feet. 

“Then,” Dantès got down to one knee and extended his hand forward, “Miss Abby, would you give me the utmost pleasure of joining me for lunch?” 

She nodded shyly and took his hand. With one practiced swoop, he lifted her in his arms, and he briskly made his way to the group. If she would have asked why he picked her up, he would have said that a princess must be carried, but in reality, he simply wanted to get to lunch faster. 

A quick pass over the patrons was enough for Dumas to decide where they should go grab lunch. He ignored the hostess and pushed into the restaurant, making his way towards the couple who, just a couple of seconds prior, had been taking full advantage of their break. Unfortunately for them, their brief moment of peace would quickly be shattered. 

“My lady Scheherazade!” Dumas grabbed a chair for both him and Jeanne Alter Lily and pulled them up against the table, awkwardly pushing himself into their conversation. 

Nitocris shot a look at Scheherazade, who in return gave her a look that requested patience. The pharaoh sighed in response, before turning back to smile at the intruder. “Why, good afternoon, Caster,” she said, through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, there’s no need for such formalities, Excellency,” Dumas bowed, “I must remind you that, again, you may call me, your humble servant and scribe, simply by Alexandre, if it does please you.” 

Nitocris waved him off, “It pleases me to call you Caster.” 

“But alas! If you were to call me Caster, how would I know to whom you’re speaking? As, besides the young mademoiselle here, all of us fit in some form into the Caster class! Please, your Excellency, grant me the gift of hearing my name pass through those lips of jasmin-” 

“Is he bothering you again, Pharaoh?” Avicebron cut him off, his hand on Dumas’ shoulder. 

Nitocris smiled up at Avicebron, her eyes conveying thanks. 

“You didn’t even leave room for us!” Nursery Rhyme complained. 

“Where are we supposed to sit?!” Jack added. 

Shakespeare glanced around and quickly found some tables that were close enough. “It would not take much for us to combine the tables and create a long banquet spread. There appears to be enough chairs to sit all of us. Yes, one, two... ah, Dantès! And the young Miss Williams! Hm, like Jesus himself, we can dine as one long table!” 

“Please stop with the Biblical references.” Avicebron stabbed his foot into Shakespeare’s ankle. He returned to look back at Scheherazade and Nitocris. “We don’t mean to intrude...” 

“You are not, please,” Scheherazade interjected before Nitocris could open her mouth. The look on the woman’s face did not go unnoticed by her girlfriend, however. 

And so, with Dantès’ help and some magic, the tables were all pushed together, the four children, two girlfriends, four authors and one Dantès all sitting down. Dumas had cleverly positioned himself right next to the couple, but the avenger was right next to him, in order to keep him in line. Jeanne Alter Lily sat across from Dumas, with Abby besides her, and Jack and Nursery Rhyme chatting across the table from one another. Andersen was next to Dantès, who was next to Jack, and Avicebron and Shakespeare sat at each end of the table. 

“Have you been busy with the convention?” Scheherazade asked, resting her hand on her chin. “I did not think that my work would be so popular... Perhaps it is because of Nitocris’ illustrations... Have you seen them? She is a very talented artist.” Nitocris looked away to hide her blush. 

Dumas sunk back into his chair. “I’m up to my ears with work! If I was even able to leave the room or our table, I would have been sure to visit yours, especially if I had known that such an artist was doing the illustrations.” He slumped down, sighing. “But alas, my work is too popular! I am constantly in need of making more!” 

“I’m surprised people are interested in reading the same novel again,” Andersen piped up. 

“It is not the same novel!” 

“It's _the Count of Monte Cristo again_ ,” Andersen repeated. 

“I have taken the famous novel and made some key changes!” 

“You mean you’ve added more of yourself inside of it? Don’t you think Dantès is already too much like you?” 

“Funny coming from the guy with an Oedipus complex literally _burned_ into him! I _wonder_ who the little match girl is supposed to be!” 

“I don’t think we should be applying Freudian concepts to each other’s works,” Scheherazade commented. 

“Uncle Shakespeare, who’s Oedipus?” Nursery Rhyme asked. 

Shakespeare looked to Avicebron for some help. The golem master was more interested in his menu. “Ah, um, he’s a man who is unfortunately at the whims of fate.” 

“So like Dantès?” Jeanne Alter Lily turned to look at the avenger, who had been looking down at his plate during the entire conversation. 

“Hey! Dantès is not an Oedipus!” Dumas stood up, pointing at Shakespeare. He raised in his hands up in the air in response. 

“Nah, if anything he’s an Elektra. I mean, if we’re going to talk about idolizing parents, isn’t it weird how much your characters like their dads?” Andersen asked. 

“I still don’t think we should be applying Freudian concepts to each other’s works.” 

“It is a little true,” Avicebron commented from behind his menu. 

“Shut up Avi!” 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Shakespeare was now standing as well, moving his hands up and down in an attempt to take off some of the heat. “We, as authors, are always going to include some of our lives and ourselves in our works! It is in our nature to look at reality and ask, how can I reveal its real truth? How can I amplify the emotions? How can I write the story so that it passes from ear to ear, country to country, century to century! Why, even I took the loss of my own son to-” 

“Shut the fuck up, no one cares about your son Hamlet,” Andersen cut him off. 

“Language!” screamed the adults back at him. Andersen sunk back into his chair. 

The two sat back down, and just in time, as the waiter appeared to take their orders. 

When he scurried back to the kitchen, Jack turned to Shakespeare and asked, “Can I say fuck?” 

Shakespeare sighed. “No honey.” 

The lunch, for the most part, was uneventful after that point. Dumas asked Nitocris if she knew the whereabouts of Cleopatra, to which she replied that she was likely with her husband (spoken in such a way that the table could almost feel the venom dripping from her mouth, daring Dumas to try and ruin the happy couple's vacation). They talked about their babysitting duty—to which the two graciously declined joining them for the afternoon—and what they were planning on doing for the rest of the day. 

When the children’s stomachs were full and the table was feeling much too claustrophobic, they thanked the two for their company, picked up their children (including having Dantès sling Andersen over his shoulder) and, after asking where the girls would like to go next, headed down to the beach. 

Nitocris sighed, resting her forehead onto the table. “Honey... how do you do it...” 

Scheherazade smiled softly and patted her head. She was sure not to damage her girlfriend’s ears. “Just imagine what it’s like when they have alcohol or hashish in them.” Nitocris whined in response. 

“Never let me see that.” 

“I won’t,” she promised, and kissed her head. 

\-- 

“Beach! Beach!” Jack screamed. She was swinging, one hand holding Shakespeare’s and the other Dumas’, between them as they made their way from the hotel down to the beach. Jeanne Alter Lily, who, the author has decided to call Lily for the rest of the piece because he is lazy, was being held up by Dumas, and Nursery Rhyme was sulking, walking behind them. She had tried, in vain, to get Avicebron to pick her up, but her efforts had gone unnoticed by the golem master. 

“They’re so loud,” Andersen complained, who was still over Dantès’ shoulder. He did not mind this, he was now with the quietest of the group. Abigail had given up her spot in the avenger’s arms, instead just holding his hand. She watched the blue-haired caster complain silently. “I don’t know why the master is making us do this sh-” 

“Language,” Dantès warned. 

Andersen sighed, “This _nonsense._ I thought Ritsuka wanted us to sell doujins! We could be making more if we weren’t babysitting.” 

Dantès shrugged, readjusting the boy on his shoulder. “It does make you all go outside.” 

“Outside, smoutside.” He cupped his face and pouted. “All that it does is agitate my scales and makes my burns more annoying. And then Dumas starts talking about his trips and you never shut him up, and then Avicebron joins in and they talk about Spain or something or other, as if they’re the coolest in the world. The only cool part is if Shakespeare gets a sunburn—but then he’ll just go on and on complaining about it.” 

“Um,” Abigail spoke up, “Are you... always this loud?” 

Andersen craned his neck to glance down at the little girl. He sighed and looked away. “Guess it’s something to do with being an author.” 

She bit her lip, considering the response. “Are they always this loud?” 

This elicited a laugh from Andersen, who threw his head back. “Yeah! The only one who doesn’t really talk is this guy.” He kicked Dantès’ back. He simply continued to follow the group. 

Abigail looked at the party ahead of them, watching as Nursery Rhyme ran up and asked to trade spots with Jack. She was not ready to stop swinging. Dantès studied her—the silence from the little girl was troubling. He squeezed her hand and gave her a gentle smile. “But this is what families are like.” 

“Families?” she asked. 

Andersen chuckled. “Yeah, sure. We’re one, big, dysfunctional family.” 

“Andersen, kindly be quiet,” Dantès suggested. “We’re almost at the beach, anyways.” 

“I’m calling the spot underneath the umbrella.” 

Dantès sighed. “I don’t think anyone would be willing to fight you on that.” 

\-- 

The beach was popular. This was peak summer season, and they were not the only patrons. Jekyll had politely reminded them not to do anything that might reveal their servant status. Shakespeare would say that it was perhaps too late for that—giant chickens and the enemy servants would be enough for humans to be confused. 

The two swung Nursery Rhyme—successfully having stolen Jack’s spot—down onto the sand and began to set things up. The advantage of being a caster was territory creation. 

“You are free to use your skills!” Shakespeare announced. He looked around the beach. Everyone else was more interested in what they were doing to watch the group. Andersen and Dumas nodded to each other, and with a few swipes on their tablet and scroll, all the specs appeared out of thin air. Jack, Lily and Nursery Rhyme clapped as they fell down around them. 

“Two umbrellas should be fine, right?” Dumas asked, putting the quill in his mouth. He looked around and was met with a couple of nods. “Cool, cool, I can summon up another one if we need it later on anyways.” 

“Why does your stuff always have dragons on it?” Andersen asked as he finished working on some beach chairs. "It looks like you're trying to be Guy Fieri."

“I’d ask why yours are so childish looking but, I guess that could be said about you, too,” Dumas answered. "But right, that's cause of your sick master, right?"

“Please,” Avicebron cut in before Andersen could fight back. “We have already discussed at length about why Andersen’s saint graph is the way it is. Furthermore, the strict ‘no talking about previous masters’ rule is still in place.” He grabbed one of the umbrellas and opened it up, sticking it firmly into the sand. 

Andersen settled himself nicely under the umbrella and on one of the beach chairs. A small table sprung up between him and the second chair. “That rule, which only exists because you wouldn’t stop calling me ugh... Rache?” 

“Roche, like the French word for ‘Stone’,” Dumas corrected. He crouched down in front of the girls and started making tubes and other toys to make sandcastles with or to play with in the ocean. 

“Right right, Roche. Do I really remind me so much of him?” Andersen asked, watching Avicebron set up the second umbrella. “You must have hated him if the way you treat me is anything to go by.” 

Avicebron used his powers to send a bunch of sand flying into Andersen’s face. 

“Young Andersen!” Shakespeare stood, with his arms on his hips, glaring at him. “Please rescind the comments about his master immediately!” 

“Oh, I see, bringing your boyf-” 

“Andersen.” 

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the golem master and apologized. Avicebron accepted the apology. He fiddled with opening the umbrella, it constantly folding back into itself, trapping him in. Shakespeare crouched so he could come inside. 

“Let me help,” he offered, and quickly pushed the umbrella up. With nimble fingers he pushed the plastic so that it would stay up. “It’s a little tall for you.” 

Avicebron looked down at his hands and mumbled a soft thanks. 

“I would like to extend an apology for Andersen, I cannot begin to imagine what is going through his mind right now that leads him to think that that language is appropriate. I know your previous master is a troublesome topic for you, Avicebron.” He tried to touch the other’s arm but he pulled away. 

“I’m fine,” Avicebron stepped out from under the umbrella and joined Dumas with the girls. 

“This is a family?” Abigail asked. 

Dantès’ sighed. “Dysfunctional was maybe the right word for it.” 

\-- 

“No!” Nursery Rhyme protested. 

Dumas sighed. He kept a soft grip on her wrist. “Nursery Rhyme, you have to put on sunscreen or you’ll burn.” 

Everyone besides Andersen, who was now comfortably settled in the shade with a novel by Dickens in his lap, had trapped the girls in order to put on sunscreen. All of them were fair-skinned, and from previous singularities, they were aware of now easily Jack and Lily could burn. 

“I don’t care!” Nursery Rhyme screamed out. She tried to pull away but was unable to slip out from his grasp. “I wanna go play!” 

“Yeah! I wanna play!” Jack repeated, who was currently fighting with Shakespeare as he tried to finish applying it on her face. She put up a strong fight, twisting her neck around and hitting his forearms. This did nothing of course, as Assassins are weak to Casters. 

“You’ll care if you burn,” Dantès’ explained. Thankfully for him, Lily was being much nicer, letting him rub the sunscreen in on the back of her neck and her shoulders. She looked more like a scared dog getting a bath—if Dantès’ didn’t have his hand on her shoulder, she may have run away in fright. “And then you will complain about the burn.” 

“No I won’t!” Nursery Rhyme complained and twisted herself around. 

“Yes, you will,” Andersen called out from the shade. 

“Shut up!” she stuck out her tongue. 

“Hey, language,” Shakespeare warned. “That’s no way for a young lady to be speaking.” 

“She probably got it from you,” Avicebron commented. Shakespeare stuck out his tongue. “See, there it is.” 

Dumas ignored them, trying his best to corral the girl closer. “Come on Nursery, it’s only a little bit of sunscreen, and then you can go play.” 

“No!” she protested, again trying to slip out. 

Avicebron stepped in, crouching down beside the two of them. “Is it because of the doll parts?” he asked. He must have hit the nail on the head, as she pouted and looked down. 

“Uncle Dumas hurts them...” 

Avicebron turned to Dumas, “Are you being too rough on a child?” 

“I thought they were just plastic...” 

Avicebron held out his hand. “Sunscreen, please.” Dumas handed it over and stood up. Avicebron turned back to the young girl. “I’ll be careful, I promise. But you must be still. If not, then I’ll summon a golem.” 

Scared by the possibility, she patiently allowed him to apply the sunscreen, making sure to be more careful around the doll parts. Lily and Jack were finished when Avicebron was doing the final touches on her face. When it was fully rubbed in, he let her go, and she, along with her two friends, ran in the direction of the ocean. 

“I’ll go,” Dantès’ volunteered. He took one step before Dumas stopped him. “What is it, Alexandre?” 

“Don’t you think you should be putting on some sunscreen, too?” he purred, looking him up and down. “If you want, I can help with your back.” 

“I can do it!” a voice called out. The couple turned to see Abigail holding the bottle of sunscreen. Dantès’ smirked at the author. 

“Why thank you,” he said, and shrugged off his coat, letting the foreigner messily smear the sunscreen on his back. Dumas simply gave him a look that read ‘you win, this time.’ 

“Are you guys going to go soon? I can’t concentrate on Dickens if you keep on talking,” Andersen called out. 

“We’re on our way,” Dantès’ responded. 

“Wouldn’t want to keep you from your boyfriend, of course.” Dumas turned around, so he couldn’t see Andersen flash him the middle finger. 

\-- 

“Sand is commonly made out of quartz, like so,” Avicebron explained, summoning a quartz crystal from thin air. “However, as we are in Hawaii, these beaches are more volcanic, and the sand can be black.” 

The group had settled down on the beach, and with the toys that Dumas had summoned, were now creating sand castles. The girls had naturally gravitated to the earth bender himself, asking him to construct intricate sandcastles for them. Avicebron was using this time as a way to slide in a quick geology lesson. 

“I believe that this sand was shipped in from the Carribean,” Dumas cut in. He seemed to be in turn making his own version of his writing house, Le Château d’If, out of sand. 

“Then we should go visit a black sand beach at some point,” Avicebron suggested, turning back to the girl. “Would you like to see black sand?” They nodded enthusiastically in response. 

“Can you make a sand golem, Uncle Avicebron?” Nursery Rhyme asked. She had diligently been carving out a moat for the castle Avicebron had constructed for them. He had used the fortress that had once served as his home in Trifas as a base example. 

“I’m not sure it would be the strongest,” he dug his hands into the sand, letting the grains slip through his fingertips. “You would need something to bind them all together.” 

Jack and Lily returned from the ocean, carrying pails of water. “I’ve brought the water for the moat!” Lily announced. 

“Okay, very carefully, pour it in. Oh! Be careful, we would not want any to spill,” Shakespeare advised. His sandy Globe Theatre was already completed. “Good job, Jeanne!” 

“I found some fishies for the moat! They can be the crocodiles!” Jack put down her pail, standing triumphantly at her successful catch. Inside, three minnows swam around, frantically looking for an escape. 

“I don’t want any crocodiles in the castle!” Nursery Rhyme complained. 

Jack dropped her arms and looked confusedly at the other. “A moat has to have crocodiles! That’s how it was back then!” 

“Was not!” Lily jumped in. 

The three turned to Shakespeare. “Well?” they asked in unison. 

Shakespeare could not find help with either Dumas or Avicebron. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well I’m not sure if _crocodiles_ could be found in the moats back then...” 

Nursery Rhyme and Lily flashed a smile. “Ha! Told you!” Nursery Rhyme said. Jack crossed her arms. 

“Who cares! The crocodiles would be cool!” 

“No crocodiles in the moat!” 

Dantès and Abigail were, once again, away from the fray, off making their own sandcastles. They watched the fighting continue from their spot. 

“Maybe we are having a bad influence on them,” Dantès mumbled to himself. 

“Pardon, Mr. Dantès?” Abigail asked. 

He shook his head and turned back to their creation. “Sorry, let’s get back to um... His name was Cthulhu yes?” 

“Cthulhu-kun yes!” 

\-- 

The sun was starting to dip. They had successfully made a compromise on the crocodiles—only two in the moat—and had wrangled the girls into putting on a second layer of sunscreen. Andersen finally stepped out from the shade, walking towards the group. 

“Shouldn’t we be heading back soon?” he asked. He flashed his tablet at them, so they could read the time. 

“But we haven’t gone swimming yet!” Jack complained. 

“Yeah!” Lily and Nursery Rhyme agreed. 

“That isn’t my problem,” Andersen said, kicking a little bit of sand up. “If you wanted to go swimming you should have sooner.” 

“We can swim now! Right Uncles?” Nursery Rhyme turned to face the three. 

“No, we have to go back to tabling. You guys have to go back to master.” Andersen crossed his arms. 

“I don’t see any problem with them swimming—the convention is almost done for the day, anyways,” Dumas stepped in. 

“We could have made more profits if you guys didn’t get so wrapped up in babysitting duty,” Andersen continued, “Instead you’re acting like idiots.” 

Shakespeare stood up. “The only one that has been acting incorrectly today is you, Andersen. You have been especially bitter throughout this entire day.” 

Andersen rolled his eyes. He gestured to the group. “I mean, who wouldn’t act like this if they had to hang around a bunch of idiots and a couple brats for the entire day?” This time, Dumas stood up. 

“You don’t have to hang around us if you don’t want to, Andersen. Like during our lifetimes, I extend my hospitality because I feel like it’ll make you happier.” Andersen was suddenly reminded of the times, back when he was alive, when Dumas would drag him out to the opera or backstage to meet ballerinas. 

“Yeah well, maybe I didn’t ask for this. For any of this!” he threw his hands up in the air. “Maybe I fucking hate all of you!” 

“Language!” came the chorus. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up, would you?! It’s not like they haven’t heard the fuck word before. Let’s not pretend that you guys are the biggest saints when I know you guys aren’t even fucking close,” he continued on. His fingernails were digging into his shirt. His burns were acting up again and he only wanted to go back inside. 

Avicebron sighed and shook his head. “If you do not wish to hang around us, then there is no one holding you here.” 

“Good.” He turned on his heel and started making his way back to the hotel. 

“Wait!” A shrill voice called out. Andersen choose to ignore the voice. It was probably just Nursery Rhyme, anyways. She hated him, too. The moment she appeared in Chaldea she had hunted him down to list off the problems with his stories. Everyone was happier without him. He could see the way everyone was coupling up—he wasn’t blind. He was the one off by himself. And because he was in the body of a child, no one would ever take him seriously. 

Unfortunately for him, ignoring the voice only made it worse. 

Something coiled itself around his torso, and he was hoisted up into the air. His vision blurred, and the beach was replaced with a glittery, dark twilight zone. Sound cut out. 

“What is going on?” he screamed out. 

“Be quiet!” 

He was turned around, and he could finally see what was happening. He, along with the rest of authors, the three girls and one Dantès, were being held up by Abigail’s tentacles. From what he could grasp, they were inside her reality marble. She stood underneath them, grasping her teddy tight. 

“Be quiet be quiet be quiet!” she repeated, sinking down onto her knees. 

“Abigail...” Shakespeare began. 

“Be quiet!” 

The authors descended into silence. She crumpled up, letting the tears start to fall. 

“You...you call yourselves a family? You... you guys just keep on fighting each other! How is that being a family?” she asked. Her fingernails dug into the plush. “If...if I could only see my dad again...then I would never fight with him...even if he did something that made me very angry...because I love my dad...!” 

“Abby...” Dantès called out. “We... we do love each other...It’s just difficult to see...” 

She shook her head, “People who love each other don’t say bad things like that!” 

They fell back into silence. 

After what seemed like hours, Andersen sighed. “I’m... I’m sorry I’ve been acting like a brat.” 

“Yeah, no kidding?” Dumas asked. 

“Hey, be quiet Dumas, he’s trying,” Dantès said. Dumas closed his mouth. 

“I’ve just... I’ve just been seeing how things have been going recently and... it makes me feel cut out... I mean, I’m not blind, you know? You guys... you guys have started dating and I feel like this super awkward fifth wheel...And none of you take me seriously! I’m one of the three greats! I may look like a child but! I... I never asked to be summoned like this, you know!” 

“We know,” Shakespeare said. 

“I’m sorry that you have been feeling that way,” Avicebron added. “We can try and make it less subtle, if you would prefer.” 

Andersen shook his head. Despite his best efforts, tears were falling now. “No, I don’t want that. You guys... You guys seem happy... I just wish... that for once, I was not the only one writing stories and being unable to love...” 

“Don’t worry, Hans! You’ll find someone, soon!” Lily piped up. The other two girls nodded. 

“T-thanks.” 

Dantès let out a soft smile and shrugged. “I guess if we’re doing this... Dumas I’m sorry I killed you 47 times before I let you into Chaldea.” 

Dumas laughed, “Ha don’t worry about that! I was expecting it!” 

“Shakespeare, I’m sorry I told Ritsuka to kill you before me in the Apocrypha event,” Avicebron confessed. 

“Wait, it was by your will that I was killed first?!” Shakespeare exclaimed. Avicebron looked away in response. He chuckled. “Well, I’m sorry for dyeing your cape pink.” 

“That was you?!” 

Shakespeare shrugged as much as he could. “You did look good in pink.” 

“You did!” Nursery Rhyme agreed. 

“I... I’m sorry I wanted crocodiles...And said the f-word...” Jack apologized. 

The chorus told her that it was perfectly fine. 

“I’m sorry I keep on making jokes about having sex with Cleopatra,” Dumas said. 

“I think you should be saying that to Caesar, not us,” Andersen replied. 

“Duly noted.” He turned to face Avicebron. “And I’m sorry for calling you Avi.” 

“Or rock bastard,” Andersen added. 

“Or Bro.” 

“Or pinky!” Nursery Rhyme laughed. 

Dantès looked down at Abigail, and smiled. “And I’m sorry that we made you worry, Abby.” 

She coughed back the tears and wiped her cheeks. “I’m... I’m sorry I used my noble phantasm on on you all... Don’t tell master, please?” 

“We won’t,” Shakespeare promised. “Thank you, Miss Williams! While we may not have known it, we were in need of your services.” 

She slowly lowered them down and uncoiled the tentacles from their torsos. Unsure what they should do, they looked at each other for a while. 

“Oh fuck it!” Andersen cried out, and ran out to hug Shakespeare. 

The chorus did not warn him about his language. They all encircled him in a hug, with Dantès’ shadows acting like a warm blanket, encompassing them all. The avenger looked up from the pile, to see the small foreigner who made all of this possible, staring back at them. 

“Come, Abby,” he said. 

She took a step back. “Are... are you sure?” 

He smiled. “Yes. If you wish, until your father is here, we would love for you to join our family.” 

Her smile was as big as the sun. 

\-- 

“Thank you so much,” Ritsuka said as they took back the four kids. “From what I can tell, no sunburns, and no one looks drunk. Thanks, you did a good job.” 

“It was nothing, editor! Anything to help ease your worries,” Shakespeare patted their shoulder. 

They started making their way out to dinner when they turned around. “Oh, I just remembered! I talked to Jekyll, he said that there was another room available—if you guys didn’t want to be all in the same room.” 

The four authors and one Dantès looked at each other. 

Andersen shrugged his shoulders, “I think we’re okay as we are now, master.” 

Ritsuka raised their eyebrow. “Okay? But if it does become a problem, just let me know.” 

“We will.” Avicebron nodded. 

They watched their master and the four girls head to the restaurant. 

Dumas let out a big sigh. “Now—who wants to go get drunk?” 

The chorus agreed. But with one key difference: Andersen was drinking orange juice that evening.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey wow hello I still suck at coming up with titles.  
> So I've wanted to write like an ensemble fic of the authors for a while now. I hope that I have conveyed their personalities well enough and they all kind of shine in their own way. And I hope that some of the references the authors and their works don't go 100% unnoticed, but I also know way too much about these guys.  
> Also I hope the ships aren't too much in your face lol.   
> Anyways thanks for reading!


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